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"\n\tAdvertisement - Continue Reading Below\n\t\n\nI had a major case of the uglies last week; my hair refused to do anything but hang like old curtains around my face, my complexion looked washed-out despite several layers of bronzer, and thanks to the giant servings of gourmet mac and cheese in the cafeteria, my stomach was fighting with my jeans for its freedom. I didn't want to head into the weekend as Debbie Downer, so I made an appointment for a blowout at fancy salon near my office.\n\nAs I've mentioned in the past, good hair has the power to instantly transform your mood; making you feel prettier and more confident. And getting pampered by a professional in a posh salon only increases those positive feelings.When I arrived at the salon, I immediately noticed how chaotic and loud it was, with every blow dryer in the place being put to good use. I checked in, changed into a stiff brown robe, and took a seat on the couch in between two women on their BlackBerries. One by one my seat mates were summoned for their appointments, but after 15 minutes no one came for me.  Another 15 minutes went by and I started to wonder if they forgot about me. I was about to go to the front desk to inquire about the delay when the stylist's frazzled assistant finally retrieved me, claiming that no one told her I was there. She washed my hair in a flash (an ahhh-inducing head massage would've made up for the wait) then escorted me to an empty chair next to the stylist who was in the middle of working on another client. Forty-five minutes after my scheduled appointment time, the stylist offered a half-ass apology and said he was ready for me. I told him to give me a simple, wavy blowout and asked him not to apply products to my roots, which tend to get greasy. Seconds later he slathered my roots with a straightening balm and cranked up the heat on the dryer. It felt like someone was using a blowtorch on my scalp. I winced and squirmed in my chair, but he was oblivious. When the pain became unbearable, I told him so. His response: \"I'm trying to dry your hair quickly because you said that you were in a rush.\" WHAT?! I was in a rush because he was running 45 freaking minutes late. In addition to burning the crap out of my scalp and hair (there were a bunch of broken strands sticking straight up around the crown of my head), my hair looked terrible\u2014he gave me big spiral curls that were more appropriate for a Miss America contestant circa 1979.As you can probably guess from the title of this post, I left the salon in tears (not the sobbing kind, just sort of sniffling), mostly because I was angry with myself for not having the balls to speak up. And the worst part of this whole story\u2014 I'm ashamed to admit that I left him a decent tip.And I'm not the only one. Just this morning, a coworker came in with a super short haircut and admitted that she cried when she got home and almost called in sick because she hated the way her hair looked. Like me, she felt too self-conscious to cause a scene by complaining to the manager.Has something like this ever happened to you? How did you handle it?"^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.cosmopolitan.com/style-beauty/beauty/how-to/a8015/bad-salon-experiences/>